


A Match Made (and Misunderstood)

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, DeanCas FlipFest, DeanCas Flipfest 2018, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Misunderstandings, Online Dating, Professor Castiel, Teacher Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 09:31:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14590071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: "What are you doing?" Dean said slowly, dreading the answer.“Swiping left, for the most part,” Cas responded blandly.“F-for the most part?”  Dean’s voice cracked.Cas had barely looked up from the screen.  “There are a few people with potential.  I’m trying to be open-minded.”“Well, don’t be too open-minded,” Dean said, trying to sound protective rather than panicked.  He probably failed.(When Dean's best friend Cas starts using dating apps, Dean tries to cope with his jealousy by diving into the online dating world too.  He doesn't expect, however, to match with Cas, and he definitely doesn't expect Cas's reaction.)[A DeanCas FlipFest 2018 Fic]





	A Match Made (and Misunderstood)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! I’m so excited to finally be sharing my DC Flipfest with you! I started it in January/February of this year, finished it in March --- and I had to wait! That was definitely the hardest part to do, though I can’t complain too much because I received a wonderful, heartfelt piece of art from Cel that you can see [here](https://uncelestialdestiel.tumblr.com/post/173729702921/deancas-flipfest-2018-art-for-surlybobbies). Please send her love and likes and show her the appreciation her art deserves!!
> 
> The flipfest experience has been so wonderful. Thank you so much to the Profound Bond members and the PB Discord server - without them, this (my longest fic and first ever real fest fic) would never have happened.
> 
> Before you begin reading, you can read up on what exactly the Flipfest is [here](https://profoundbond.net/flipfest). If you click around on that site, you'll find an invite to the PB discord server, so if you're 18+, come and join us!
> 
>    
> In the end notes, I’ll be posting the link to this fic's masterpost. Between now and then, however, please enjoy my Flipfest!

Sam had introduced Eileen as his dog-walker.

When Dean had first heard about her - the wonderful, witty, kind, beautiful woman in his little brother’s life - he’d snorted into the phone and said, “Sure, Sammy. She ‘walks the dog.’ Are we talking about you here? Are you the dog?”

Sam had gone quiet on the line for a few seconds before he said, touchily, “Dean. She walks my dog.”

And Dean had had to clamp down on his bottom lip to keep from bursting out laughing because really, only Sam would convince a woman to walk his dog before getting her to go out with him. To his immense pride, he had been able to keep himself from laughing, but Sam had still hung up on him when Dean added, “But you _want_ to be the dog, right?”

Dean had taken that as a _probably._

Dean changed the answer to _definitely_ when he finally met Eileen two months later and saw the way Sam’s smile turned besotted when she winked at him over coffee. They were at breakfast, and despite the way Sam and Eileen’s elbows brushed as they ate their identical egg white omelettes, Sam insisted they were not yet an item.

Ironically, they both became deeply involved in a conversation with Cas about Dean’s love life. 

“Has he tried Crushbook?” Sam asked, as if Dean wasn’t sitting _right there._

“I don’t believe so,” Cas said, chewing his turkey bacon thoughtfully. He was, as usual, sitting very close to Dean, and it made Dean’s fingers itch. “I suspect Dean would not be comfortable using a ‘dating app.’”

Dean stabbed into his stack of pancakes. “How is it that I’m the one being analyzed here? Last I checked we’re all single at this table.”

Eileen smirked at him. “Speak for yourself; I’ve been dating recently,” she said.

The effect this had on the group was varied: Cas, ever dynamic, paused for just a millisecond before he resumed eating; Dean’s wide eyes flew to Sam; and Sam - Sam froze, his eyes on the salt shaker in front of his plate, his hand a fist at the edge of the table. 

Eileen continued, oblivious. “Crushbook is actually a decent place to find someone. You should try it,” she said. “You and Cas. It’s worked out for a few of our friends, right, Sam?”

She started to turn toward Sam, whose mouth was tight, eyebrows still pinched. Dean did the one thing he could think of to save his brother: he held up a hand to volunteer and when Eileen turned back toward him, he said, “I’ll try it out.”

Eileen looked mildly impressed. “Really?”

Dean was already handing over his phone (and oh, did Sam owe him _big-time._ ) “Have at it.”

Eileen’s eyebrows had risen, but she took the phone anyway. “Great,” she said. “What about Cas?”

Cas upended another tiny disposable cup of creamer into his coffee. “I already have an account,” he said. “It’s been fruitful.” 

Dean bit his tongue and banged his knee on the table. Cas sent him a mildly concerned look, but he merely patted Dean on the back absently before continuing his conversation with Eileen. Dean heard Cas say the words “dating” and “recently” and “convenient” and “potential” and Dean had to excuse himself from the booth. He let their conversation fade as he walked off to the restrooms, face warm from shame and the embarrassment of being so, so wrong about where he and Cas stood. 

He and Cas had been best friends for years, and Dean had always kind of thought throughout those years that maybe he and Cas would end up together, somehow. He’d entertained those thoughts on late, lonely Friday nights - of Cas’s hand on the small of Dean’s back, of Cas’s smile after lazy Sunday morning sex, of Cas’s toothbrush in the same cup as Dean’s - and it had become so easy to fall into those daydreams that Dean had stopped thinking that they wouldn’t one day come true, even if Dean never did anything to help them along.

All those daydreams had been sent packing with five words. _I already have an account,_ Cas had said, as if it were perfectly acceptable to crush another man’s heart over undercooked buttermilk pancakes. _It’s been fruitful._ Dean supposed he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Of course Cas had an account. Of course Cas was dating. Cas had so much love to give it spilled over. 

Dean pushed open the swinging door of the restroom and splashed his face with cool water from the faucet. He looked up at his reflection after he’d turned off the spigot and was unsurprised to see Sam, looking listless, coming into the room behind him. 

“Damn,” Dean said.

Sam turned on the spigot. “Damn,” he agreed, before rinsing off his face as well.

 

The end of breakfast was a little more subdued than the beginning. “Sam and I left Mimi at the groomer’s,” Eileen said. “It was nice meeting both of you.”

“You too,” Cas said. He gave her a hug, which was unlike him. 

Sam managed a pained smile before he walked off to get the car. Dean, knowing he had a half-hour drive ahead of him with a contented Cas in the passenger seat, wished he could follow. Maybe he and Sam could get drunk together like the old days, he thought.

Eileen turned to follow Sam but just as suddenly turned to Dean. “Dean,” she said, puncturing Dean’s daydreams of day drinking. “I left some things on your account for you to fill out.”

“Oh. Uh.” He fumbled out a “thank you” in ASL, which Eileen received with a warm smile. 

“It’s a start,” she said, then turned to catch up to Sam.

Dean and Cas started walking to the Impala. 

“She and Sam will be an excellent couple,” Cas mused. 

“If Sam ever gets his head out of his ass and asks her out.”

“She’ll wait for him.” Cas’s voice was confident as he walked to the passenger side door.

Dean unlocked the car. “She’s still on the dating scene, Cas.”

“But she definitely likes him,” Cas said, opening the car door and sliding in.

Dean started the car. “You think so?” 

Cas’s gaze slid to the window. “I can tell,” is all he said.

Dean, still feeling the sting from earlier, let the silence stretch on until Cas’s apartment.

 

Sam called that night. 

“How’s it going?” Dean asked.

Sam was silent for a long time. Finally he released a sigh and admitted, “Could be better.” Then he switched tack: “Are _you_ okay, though? With the Cas thing, I mean?”

Dean eyed the two empty bottles of beer on the coffee table in front of him. There was a third bottle sweating in his hand. “Seriously, dude? I’m fine.”

“Did you know Cas has been dating?”

“Did you know _Eileen_ has been dating?”

There was another pause. When Sam answered, it was quietly: “Eileen’s her own woman.”

“And Cas is his own man.”

“Are we seriously going to keep mimicking each other?”

“I dunno - are you going to quit pretending like you’re okay?”

“I’ve only known Eileen for a few months; you’ve been Cas’s best friend for years - it’s not even a comparison, dude. I’ll get over it. I’m more worried about you.”

Dean put him on speaker and placed the phone on the coffee table. Then he leaned forward, elbows on knees, and pressed the bottle in his hand to his cheek, closing his eyes against the moisture kissing his skin. “Cas and I were never going to be a thing, Sammy. You and Eileen, on the other hand, have been dancing around each other since you met.”

“Maybe I imagined it.”

“You weren’t imagining it,” Dean said. “Even Cas saw it.”

“Yeah?” Sam cleared his throat. “What, uh - what did he see, exactly?”

Dean drained the bottle. “Dunno. He just said he could tell she liked you.”

“That’s it?” Sam’s voice was flat.

“That’s it.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

“Maybe he speaks from experience,” Dean said. He could hear the barest trace of bitterness in his voice.

There was a pause. “Seriously, Dean - you okay?”

Dean scowled. “Quit it, Samantha. Go call Eileen and stop projecting your shit onto me and Cas.”

“For what it’s worth, I do think Cas has feelings for you.” 

“Yeah, well,” Dean said, closing his eyes with a sudden lump in his throat. “You’re wrong. Night, Sammy.” He hung up before Sam could reply.

 

The Crushbook app sat untapped on Dean’s phone for a week. It was only out of spite that he finally opened it: he had been sitting across from Cas at his dinner table, flipping through student papers and demolishing a serving of Cas’s lasagna when Cas had pulled out his phone and started fucking _swiping._

“What are you doing?” Dean had asked, dreading the answer.

“Swiping left, for the most part,” Cas had responded blandly.

“For the most part?” Dean’s voice had cracked. 

Cas had barely looked up from the screen. “There are a few people with potential. I’m trying to be open-minded.”

“Don’t - don’t be too open-minded,” Dean had said, trying to sound protective rather than panicked. He’d probably failed.

Cas had smiled at him. “My standards are high, I assure you.”

Dean had said, with an equally bright smile, “Great,” but what he’d meant was _Great, that means that whoever you bring home is going to be light years ahead of me and you’ll realize how much more you deserve._

So after having walked Cas to the door (ignoring the way Cas’s eyebrows had risen in surprise), he’d pulled out his phone and tapped on the Crushbook icon.

It opened to his home page. He sifted through the information Eileen had input at the diner. He corrected a few details, left a few areas blank, then stared at the empty biography field. He rubbed his hand over his chin for a few minutes, thought about Cas making lasagna in his apartment across town and then driving 20 miles to eat it with Dean, and wrote, with a self-deprecating smile on his lips, “The best friends make the best lovers. Hit me up if you want to be friends.”

It was a little on-the-nose, but what were the chances that he and Cas would be matched? Dean could keep this little secret of his, this little piece of Cas that he could not let go of, and Cas would be none the wiser.

He tapped _save_ and flipped to the “Find a Match” tab. Two arrows showed the direction in which Dean needed to swipe his thumb to indicate his interest. After skipping the how-to (really, how confusing could it be?), Dean stretched himself out onto the couch, laid his head on the armrest, and began swiping.

He thought the swiping would help him feel better - that the effort put forth toward moving on (albeit done out of spite) would help ease the beginnings of heartbreak in him - but the swiping was just that - swiping. He wasn’t interested in dating any of these men and women, despite the lengths they went to to make their lips look extra pouty or their abs look extra ripped. Maybe before he’d met Cas he would have appreciated this dating scene - one that was contained in a little screen with no one able to tell he’d been through three bottles of beer and his jeans were unbuttoned and his hair smelled like sweat - but Cas had ruined him for everyone else.

He spent five minutes swiping. He tried to be “open-minded” and swiped right on three people. A few minutes after swiping right on a woman, Dean received a notification that she had indicated her mutual interest. 

_You’ve matched with Katelyn! Get to know Katelyn by sending a message right now!_

Dean thought about it. Then he put his phone down and closed his eyes. If Katelyn wanted to talk to him, she would message him herself.

 

Katelyn messaged overnight. According to her (really sweet, _really_ thorough) profile, she was a nurse. At 28, she was a few years younger than Dean, but that didn’t put him off. What did put him off, however, were the _emojis._

Dean used emojis occasionally. He was not inherently opposed to them. But Katelyn used them _a lot:_ in every single message, even if all she said was _haha._

He despaired about it over burgers at the local bar, Cas listening with barbeque sauce at the corner of his mouth and his eyebrows knitted together. “It sounds like you’re not being particularly open-minded.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Dean said. “Opening that damn app was open-minded enough.”

Cas smiled, but he hid it behind his napkin. “I’m sure you’ll find someone whose enthusiasm for emojis is more suited to you.”

Dean stared at the bit of barbeque sauce that had somehow made its way to Cas’s lower lip. He imagined the taste - sweet, just a little tangy, thick on the tip of his tongue - and the soft gasp Cas might make if Dean leaned in to catch it between his lips. He looked up to see Cas watching him thoughtfully, eyes soft, lips parted. As Dean watched, Cas’s tongue slipped out to swipe his lower lip.

_Katelyn who?_

 

His interaction with Katelyn eventually fizzled out. Her hours were unpredictable, and their conversations were limited to either early mornings or late nights, both of which Dean liked to reserve either thinking about Cas or talking to Cas or hanging out with Cas, and he figured that if Katelyn wasn’t enough to distract him from thoughts of Cas doing something ridiculously boring like rearranging Dean’s cupboards, then he wasn’t very interested.

 

Over the next few nights, he received a few more notifications of matches made, but he made no effort to message any of them, and they for their part stayed the fuck away from impala67.

It was only after spending movie night watching Cas (eating popcorn, yawning into his hand, drinking his beer, nodding off at all the best parts) rather than the movie that Dean decided that he needed to give Crushbook another go. His infatuation with Cas was going nowhere; the sooner it dissipated the better, and maybe Crushbook could help it along. He just needed to be a little bit more open-minded.

Shutting the door after Cas and trying to rid his memory of Cas’s soft “good night, Dean” was like trying to shut the door on a ghost: Cas was long gone, but he was somehow _still there._

Still, Dean dragged himself to the couch anyway, stretched himself out, and began swiping. It started to feel like a game: judging people based off of a solitary picture and then sending them away with one swipe of a thumb. He didn’t even bother checking out profiles anymore - just listened to his dick and swiped away.

Dean was about to give up on Crushbook for the night when he swiped left on a blonde (if she could afford highlights that nice, Dean could definitely not afford her) and the picture was replaced by a snap of a vintage chess set. As soon as it registered, Dean stopped his thumb from swiping it away. It looked familiar.

Curiosity turned to confusion when he saw the person’s name: CAS. At the bottom of the picture, a number was circled: 32. Cas’s age. 

Dean took deep, calming breaths. He was staring at Cas’s profile, he realized. His gut jumped in anticipation. The chess set was the exact same chess set that Cas had taught Dean with two years ago, and the picture had been taken in Cas’s apartment on the same stupid IKEA coffee table that Cas always reprimanded Dean for using as a footstool. 

Dean ran a hand over his chin as he tried to come to terms with this turn of events: somehow, Cas’s Crushbook profile had made its way to Dean’s pool. Dean’s eyes caught the match percentage along the bottom of the screen: 87%.

He sat up and placed the phone carefully on the coffee table. He had to think. As he saw it, there were three options: swipe left, swipe right, or chuck the phone across the room and go the rest of his life without touching Crushbook again.

If Dean swiped left and sent the profile away, he could pretend it never happened and he could continue on his mission to get over Cas. 

The second option, however, called to Dean. If Dean swiped right and indicated his interest, the only way it would matter is if Cas did the same… because if Cas did the same, that would mean, in its simplest form, that Cas was also interested in Dean. 

In fact (and it was almost too good to hope for), there was the barest of possibilities that Cas had already swiped right on Dean’s profile, and if Dean swiped right too, he’d get an instant notification that they had matched.

Dean reached out to the phone, his index finger outstretched. He was going to swipe right. Cas wouldn’t know about Dean’s interest unless Cas did the same, and that comforted him as he placed the finger on his screen and slowly, with a breath, swiped it to the right. 

_You’ve let CAS know you’re interested! If CAS feels the same, we’ll let you know!_

Dean let out a breath. He was slightly disappointed, but knew there was still the possibility that Cas could swipe right in a few minutes or hours or days or. Or never. 

There was always that.

Dean stared at the phone for a while longer, then, knowing that the longer it went without a match notification the worse he would feel, remembered the third option he had been considering. He picked up the phone, tossed it to the opposite end of the couch, and left the room, shutting the door to his bedroom firmly behind him.

 

Dean woke up after a night of definitely-not-enough-sleep and studiously ignored the phone lying on the couch while he started his coffee. He knew waiting a few more minutes to pick up his phone was silly, but a few more minutes could give Cas the amount of time he needed to swipe right on Dean’s profile. In Dean’s mind, the longer Dean stayed away from his phone, the less likely he would be disappointed.

After a cup of coffee and a quick shower, Dean picked up the phone. He shuffled through his notifications - an email, two messages from Sam, some podcast announcements, and one match notification from Crushbook that merely said, _You’ve got a match!_

Dean swallowed nervously. He deleted the email - spam - and fired off a reply to Sam about dinner the following night. Then and only then did he open up Crushbook. 

It opened to a screen that read, _You’ve matched with CAS! Get to know CAS by sending a message right now!_

The notification read 2:23am. 

Dean put the phone down slowly. His hands had started to tremble, just a little bit. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to wrap his head around the idea - the _fact_ \- that Cas had swiped right on Dean’s profile. 

He imagined Cas - in bed at 2:23am, hair mussed from tossing and turning for hours - switching on his phone display and deciding to open up Crushbook. Dean wondered if there had been any hesitation when Cas swiped right, if Cas had gone through the same crisis of indecision as Dean had, or if Cas had merely raised his eyebrows and swiped right just to fuck with Dean. 

He was in the middle of dialing Sam’s number - just for a quick, brotherly oh-god-I-matched-with-my-best-friend-on-a-dating-app-what-does-this-mean-what-do-i-do chat - when a text message popped up.

It was from Cas. _Dinner tomorrow? I have something to tell you._

Dean dropped the phone and didn’t bother picking it up from the floor until he left for work.

 

Dean moved his dinner with Sam up a night, which meant crashing Sam’s date with Eileen. 

“Not that I’m not glad to see you, Dean,” Sam hissed, after letting Eileen go through the door first, “but you’re kind of cramping us.”

Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder and followed Eileen. ”Trust me, you’re gonna wanna hear this, Sammy.”

They settled at a table in a corner, and despite Sam’s pursed lips, Eileen seemed more than happy to see Dean. “So how’s Crushbook?” she asked.

Sam opened up his menu and ignored them.

“About that,” Dean said. “Sam, put the fucking menu down and listen, will you?” When Sam just sniffed and turned the page, Dean added, “It’s about Cas.”

Sam seemed to struggle for a few seconds between his stubbornness and his curiosity. Curiosity won out. He put his menu down and crossed his arms, still maintaining a scowl. “What is it?”

Dean rubbed a hand over his chin, a little embarrassed now that he had to acknowledge the situation out loud. “I matched with him on Crushbook.”

That wiped the irritation from Sam’s face. He leaned forward, eyebrows high. “You _what_?”

“So you two are -”

“No.” Dean had to interrupt Eileen before she said something terrifying in its significance. “It’s not like that -”

Sam held up a hand. “It’s exactly like that.”

Dean swallowed. “No.”

“You matched, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Dean conceded. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”

“You swiped right,” Eileen said. “Right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Dean’s been in love with Cas since they met,” Sam interrupted with a roll of his eyes, ignoring Dean when he started to stammer. 

“ _Now wait just a goddamn minute -!”_

Eileen turned to Sam; they both ignored Dean. “What about Cas?”

“Well, I mean, a match means they both swiped right, doesn’t it? And swiping right generally means they’re interested?”

“Generally,” Eileen confirmed.

“ _Generally,_ ” Dean pointed out.

“What other reasons would Cas have for swiping right?”

“None,” Eileen said.

“He might want to fuck with me,” Dean said. “He hasn’t forgiven me for the toothpaste-Oreo thing.”

“Cas would never play with your feelings that way,” Sam said.

“He messaged me last night and said he had something to tell me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam said. “Whatever it is, he’s not going to confess to playing with your feelings because, and I repeat, _he would never do that._ ” He flagged down a waiter. “Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s half in love with you too.”

Eileen’s eyebrows rose. Dean’s pinched together. “What?” they both said.

Sam ordered three beers from a passing waiter. “Seriously, have you seen you two together?” he said to Dean.

Dean pressed his lips together. He ignored the niggling thought in his head that reminded him of the way Cas’s hand had curled around Dean’s arm the last time they were out to dinner, a slight touch to remind Dean to tip the waiter as they slipped past her. It took a little bit more to dislodge the memory from two weeks ago of Cas’s lips hovering dangerously close to Dean’s ear when he had whispered a joke about Sam’s hair.

“He’s dating,” Dean said, ears red, then clarified, “ _other people_.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not also interested in you,” Eileen said. “Someone can date other people while waiting for someone to get his act together.” She opened her mouth to say something more, then seemed to decide against it. She picked up her menu and began browsing. Her elbow brushed Sam’s.

Dean looked toward Sam, who was trying (and failing miserably) to hide a pleased smile.

 

After dinner, Dean pulled Sam aside and poked him in the chest. “She literally said she was waiting for _someone_ to get his act together. That’s a hint if I ever saw it.”

Sam’s lips twitched. “Yeah, I got it.”

Dean smacked his brother on the arm once more for good measure. “Go get her, you lucky son of a bitch.”

Sam rubbed his arm, but he was grinning. “Dude, what about you? Go see Cas and really _watch_ him, alright? You’ll see.”

“Whatever.”

Sam’s smile dipped a little, his brow furrowing. “Seriously,” he said, clapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “ _Watch_ him.”

Dean smacked Sam’s arm away. “Yeah, okay,” he said. He refrained from telling Sam that watching Cas - watching him eat and breathe and live and love and laugh, and then falling in love with him because of it - was what got him into this mess in the first place.

 

Dean picked Cas up the next night, idling outside in the Impala, his hands sweaty on the steering wheel. He began to wipe them on his jeans then remembered he’d put on his nice ones, his _date_ jeans, and his hands began to sweat some more at the thought of this being a date.

Cas exited his front door. He was wearing the leather jacket Dean had gotten him for his birthday, and his jeans - those were definitely Cas’s nice jeans too. 

When he slid into the front of Dean’s Impala, he smiled. “Thank you for picking me up.”

Dean winked. _Why did he wink?_ “No problem, bud.” He clapped a hand on Cas’s shoulder before pulling out into the road. “You look nice.” _Why did he say that?_

“You’re only saying that because I’m wearing the jacket you bought me.”

“And I bought it ‘cause I know it’d look good on you.” The jacket had been twice the amount of money he’d initially planned to spend on Cas’s gift, but he didn’t mention that, mostly because every time Dean saw Cas wearing it, he knew it had been worth every single penny.

Cas’s posture was loose and relaxed when Dean chanced a glance to his right. He seemed content. He was turning his phone over and over in his left hand and smiling softly at the road.

“You, ah - you seem happy,” Dean ventured. “Any particular reason?” His eyes fell purposely to the phone in Cas’s hand, then back up to Cas’s face.

Cas’s smile was secretive. “Later,” he said. “When we’re at the restaurant.”

If Cas noticed that Dean drove a little faster, he didn’t say anything.

 

The Roadhouse was a bar and grill that they visited at least once a month, but it felt unfamiliar to Dean as he shut his car door. It might have been the drag of his nice jeans against his thighs, reminding him that there was a distinct possibility that the night could turn out very differently from all of the other nights they had spent talking over a plate of Ellen’s sliders. Maybe tonight instead of Dean dropping Cas home, they’d head to Dean’s and suddenly whether or not Dean was wearing his nice jeans wouldn’t matter because Cas would be taking them off.

“Are you feeling okay?” Cas asked as they started toward the entrance. His leather sleeve dragged across Dean’s forearm. 

“Fine,” Dean mumbled, looking down at his shoes, listening to the crunch of the gravel underneath them, trying to rid his head of the image of Cas’s long fingers hooking into Dean’s belt loops and tugging them down his thighs.

“You’re wearing your good shoes tonight,” Cas observed, after following Dean’s line of sight. “Any reason?”

Cas sounded hopeful, and that made Dean look up. Cas’s eyes were lit up, the colors of the neon signs in the restaurant’s windows reflected in his pupils, making him look otherworldly. He was also smiling, just a little, one eyebrow pitched at an angle to the other. Teasing. 

Dean hitched on a grin. “Flattered you noticed, babe.”

Cas licked his lips. Dean was glad to have the door handle already in his grasp, because he would have broken the skin of his palm with his nails otherwise. He held the door open for Cas.

“I always notice,” Cas murmured lowly as he passed by, catching Dean’s gaze then dropping it just as quickly. “ _Sweetheart.”_

Dean took several calming breaths, struck dumb by their outright flirting. He barely acknowledged the customers who thanked him for holding the door, occupied with the echo of Cas’s voice in his ear and the way Cas looked walking away in his good jeans and leather jacket, the way he reached out to hug Ellen and kiss Jo on the cheek. 

Dean watched helplessly as Jo spoke a few words to Cas, who looked around for Dean. Dean saw his mouth form the words, “There he is,” and suddenly both he and Jo were looking at Dean holding the door open for no one and staring, mouth ajar, at Cas.

Cas’s head tilted, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Jo looked exasperated. She shuffled Cas off to their usual booth then confronted Dean, who had since let go of the door handle and started to slink toward the restrooms.

“You’re pathetic,” she said, before thrusting a few menus at his chest. “Bring these to your boyfriend and apologize for leaving him alone.”

“He’s not -”

“Shut up,” she said cheerfully, before going to greet more customers.

Dean, who hadn’t really needed the restroom and had really only been headed there to avoid Jo and the exact conversation he had just had with her, met Cas at their booth, sliding in opposite him. “Sorry about that,” he said, handing Cas a menu. 

He didn’t offer an explanation for his strange behavior and Cas didn’t ask. Dean was grateful - how would Dean have answered otherwise? _I’m in love with you and you just flirted with me and I’m just now beginning to realize that you’ve been flirting with me for years, holy shit._

Cas put aside the menu without opening it. “I think I’m going for the lamb tonight.”

Dean cleared his throat, which had gone itchy with nerves. “Fancy,” Dean said. Then he sent another purposeful look at Cas’s phone, laying next to Cas’s steak knife, in an effort to steer the conversation toward the elephant in the room. “We celebrating something?”

Dean watched Cas’s throat move. His heart nearly gave out when Cas said, “Sort of.” His eyes, when he looked at Dean, were determined.

“Spit it out,” Dean said, laughing a little nervously. 

Cas licked his lips again - _why -_ and said, “I quit my job.”

Dean paused. He held up a finger. “Wait. What?”

“I quit my job.”

“I’m sorry, I swear I heard you say you _quit your job_ ,” Dean said. 

“You heard correctly.” 

Dean drew back. “You did what _?_ ” he said incredulously. “Why?” He waited for Cas’s expression to falter, but it didn’t; Cas’s expression remained unchanged - set, determined. “Cas, are you serious right now? What the fuck are you going to do?”

This morning, Dean had lain in bed with his eyes closed imagining what Cas might say over dinner. He had imagined Cas leaning forward and taking Dean’s hand on the table, that Cas would talk about how glad he was that he was finally getting the chance to speak to Dean about his feelings now that Crushbook had revealed them. He had imagined both of them speaking in hushed tones over a few drinks, tucking their smiles into their shoulders, their feet tangling under the table. 

But it didn’t look like any of that was going to happen any time soon, not when Cas was sitting across from him grinning and spouting nonsense like, “I’m going to teach.”

Dean looked around the bar, looking for signs that he was dreaming. He searched for some wall that didn’t look quite right or some person who was missing half of his body or Mrs. Cruz from 2nd grade telling him to face the wall - but the Roadhouse was the Roadhouse, and Dean wasn’t dreaming.

“Cas, you’re giving up a six-figure job to _teach_?”

Cas shrugged. “I’ve saved up enough to live comfortably for a few years.”

Dean waved away a waiter who was coming by to take their orders. “Not now. Cas, that’s not the fucking point.”

Cas crossed his arms. “So what is the point?”

“Point is that _I’m a teacher,_ Cas, and it’s shit money and shit resources and a shit system and the only thing good about it is-”

“The kids,” Cas finished, looking unimpressed. “You’ve told me often enough. You’re the reason I made this decision.”

“Nope,” Dean said, shaking his head before Cas could get any further. “I’m not going to be blamed for this when you’re two months in and miserable.”

“Are _you_ miserable?”

That stopped Dean’s tirade. He thought about it. “No,” is all he said, though the concession felt like a defeat.

“Exactly.”

Dean dug his palms into his eyes, sighing heavily. “Fuck. I just don’t want you to regret this.”

Dean felt the warmth of Cas’s hand wrapping around his forearm, gently pulling a hand away from his face. When Dean looked up, Cas was smiling softly. “I’ll be fine, _sweetheart,_ ” Cas said. 

The pet name coaxed a smile out of Dean. “How is it that you’re the one who’s out of a job and I’m the one being comforted?”

“You’re worried for me,” Cas said simply. “I understand.”

Dean sighed again. It took him a long minute, but finally he said, “If you’re sure, Cas, and if it makes you happy - then... I’m happy for you.” He said the last bit grudgingly.

This time, Cas’s smile was wide. “Thank you,” he said.

 

They discussed Cas’s plans over dinner. He already had a few interviews lined up for the summer: some for a community college, one for a prep school, a few more for some local public schools. He was leaning toward teaching Literature classes at the community college, maybe one or two in Philosophy. He seemed like he had his head on straight, and the more they talked, the more Dean relaxed. Their feet knocked together under the table after all.

The issue of Crushbook did not come up, and Dean understood. A pair of matching thumb swipes couldn’t compare to a change like Cas was contemplating, and it had been obvious that Cas needed Dean’s support. A conversation about _them_ could wait, especially when Dean was still trying to wrap his mind around the concept that Cas seemed to return his feelings. If he allowed himself to think about it, he’d begin asking himself _why both of them had waited so long_ , and the years they’d spent as friends would seem like years of wasted opportunities. 

So Dean would wait, at least until Cas was ready to talk about it. 

But when they left the bar and grill and walked out into the parking lot, something stopped Dean just as they came to the Impala. He stopped Cas from opening the passenger door with a hand to his sleeve. Cas looked at him with eyebrows raised.

“Yes?”

Dean didn’t quite know how to start. “I’m just - I’m glad - look, just _thanks.”_

“For what?”

“For telling me. For trusting me. I know I freaked out a little bit, but I’m glad you told me even though you knew I’d freak out. Just thanks.”

Cas’s eyes had grown soft again. “Dean, I should be thanking you for your support. I never doubted it for a second. You truly are my best friend.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, shy grins on their lips. Then Dean, throwing caution to the wind, extended his arms. “C’mere, man,” he mumbled.

Cas’s smile was so wide his nose had scrunched up, and when he stepped into Dean’s hug, he was laughing quietly. “You are the strangest man I have ever met, Dean Winchester,” he said. He left his hands on Dean’s shoulder blades and hooked his chin on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean, his cheek grazing the warm shell of Cas’s ear, smelled the citrus fragrance of Cas’s shampoo and the faint cling of smoke from the bar. Holding his breath, he let his hands drift: one to the back of Cas’s neck, the other to lay on the thick, cool leather covering Cas’s lower back. It was bold, and maybe too much, but if Cas had swiped right, this was going to happen eventually, right?

Still, he didn’t let out the breath he’d been holding until he felt Cas’s initial shock fall away. They stayed like that, breathing together, for far longer than they’d ever allowed themselves to touch each other before.

When they pulled apart, Cas’s face was tinged pink, though it could have been the neon sign from The Roadhouse’s windows casting the hue high on his cheekbones. His smile was tentative.

Dean let his hands fall away. “Uh - dropping you off, right?”

Cas’s nod was thoughtful. “...yes.”

Dean nodded once, then walked around to the driver’s seat on shaky legs.

 

Dean was exhausted - emotionally and physically - by the time he closed the door of his apartment. Once he locked it, he turned around and sagged against it, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back onto the wood. 

His phone pinged. He dug it out of his pocket and saw a Crushbook notification.

_CAS has sent you a message!_

Dean straightened, suddenly feeling wide awake. He tapped on the notification, and the app opened up to his inbox, where an unread message lay untapped.

When he opened it, Dean felt a smile tug at his lips.

**CAS: Hello (:**

Dean: Hey ;)

**CAS: How has your night been?**

Dean: fine. just got home from dinner with a good friend.

**CAS: Me too**

Dean: ;)

Dean: yea? how’d dinner go

**CAS: It went very well. Had a good talk and a few drinks.**

**CAS: So I can’t complain. How about you?**

Dean: seems like we had a similar sort of night then. ;)

**CAS: Really?**

Dean: yea my friend told me something that kinda shocked me but he’s a smart one. he’ll get through it.

**CAS: he seems lucky to have a friend like you**

Dean: just a friend tho

**CAS: Are you dropping a hint?**

Dean: Maybe (;

Dean waited for five whole minutes for Cas to reply, but no answer came. Dean dropped his arms to his side and let his head fall back against his door. 

 

“What do you mean you want _me_?” Dean asked incredulously. He was holding his phone to his ear, staring up at the lazy spinning of his ceiling fan, and _swearing_ Cas had just told him - 

“I want to observe you and your students.”

Dean closed his eyes. He hadn’t heard from Cas since four nights prior when they’d been messaging on Crushbook, and here Cas was, calling Dean out of the blue, asking to come into Dean’s work and see him in action.

“Dude,” he said. “Are you serious?”

“The community college called and asked if I wanted to pick up an adjunct position in two weeks. It was heavily implied that it might help ‘get my foot in the door,’ so to speak, for a full-time position in the Fall semester.”

“And what the hell does this have to do with my kids?”

“They suggested I go around to the schools and do a little research before jumping in.”

There was a migraine building in Dean’s temple. “Cas, you’ll be teaching adults. I teach 8-year-olds.”

“The principle is the same, is it not?”

“And what principle is that?”

There was a long silence. “To… make students feel at ease so that they feel free to make mistakes and learn from them.”

That sounded familiar. “Cas, I told you to stop reading those damn pedagogy books. Most of that shit will go out the window when you’re in an actual classroom and when you cram all that info in your head you’re gonna blank out when it matters.”

There was a thump over the line, then a long sigh. “All the more reason for me to see an actual classroom, then.”

“I highly doubt your classroom will look like mine,” Dean said, but he already knew he was going to say yes if Cas kept pushing. 

“I know that,” Cas was saying, a little touchily, “But it’s better for me to see _something_ rather than nothing at all.” There was a pause, then Cas said, a little more quietly, “And I’ve always wanted to see you teach.”

Dean was horrified to feel his ears heat. If something like this happened in his classroom, one of his more precocious students would undoubtedly catch it. “Fine,” he snapped, irritated mostly because he felt the flush blooming on his cheeks as well. “Thursday okay with you?”

Cas was smiling; Dean could hear it in his voice when he said, “Yes, Dean, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

 

Dean had never really planned on being a teacher; he’d been in and out of school for most of his childhood until his dad died, and none of his experiences had really inclined Dean toward teaching. In fact, when John had died, Dean had almost dropped out of school entirely. It had only been when Bobby threatened to take the Impala away if Dean didn’t take his high school education seriously that Dean had buckled down. He’d graduated from high school by the skin of his teeth, but he’d done it. 

By then Sammy had been old enough for his idol-worship of Dean to begin wearing off - so Dean had done what any nervous older brother at risk of losing his nerdy little brother’s admiration would have done: he’d enrolled at the local university, sweating bullets the whole time he’d spoken with the registrar and the financial aid officer. When he had called to tell Bobby, there had been such a long silence Dean had thought Bobby had hung up, but then there’d been a huge sniff and Bobby’s gruff voice telling Dean he was proud and _come over for dinner, you idjit._

Dinner had been small but warm, and when Bobby had handed Dean an envelope containing a check for a few hundred dollars - _for books and all that junk -_ and Sam had grinned his toothy little teenage grin and looked up at Dean with his eyes hidden under his fringe, Dean knew he’d made the right choice. 

It had been hard, but he had graduated from college in five-and-a-half years with a degree in engineering and Latin honors that he’d rubbed in Sammy’s face the minute his commencement ceremony was over. “Cum laude, _bitch,”_ he’d said. “Beat that!” (Sam did, in fact, eventually beat that.)

But being an engineer had soon turned out very differently from what Dean had imagined it to be. Classes had been fun, and his classmates had encouraged him along the path, but the job itself, while challenging, had come with a healthy side of mind-numbing boredom. Every day had been the same: same people, same tasks, same problems. This is why, when Sam’s then-girlfriend Jess had started volunteering at an after-school program nearby and had invited Dean “just for a change of pace,” Dean had agreed. 

That’s where Dean had met Cas, actually, when Cas had picked up his niece Claire and pinned Dean with the clearest blue gaze Dean had ever encountered and said, “My niece is upside down in that tree behind you. Can you get her down?”

The experience had been life-changing in many ways, not only because he had met Cas but also because despite Claire Novak’s penchant for mischief, Dean had found something he truly loved to do: work with kids.

So he had quit his desk job and enrolled in a Master’s program to get him on the road to his teaching certification. He had worked as a pre-K aide while going to school, and by that time, Cas had found his way to Dean’s side, a best friend found at the age of 26. 

Five years later, Cas was in Dean’s classroom for the first time. They’d come in together and after signing Cas in at the office, Dean led Cas to his classroom. He was glad he was wearing a dark shirt because he felt sweat dripping down his sides in nervousness. 

“It’s a mess in there,” he warned, before opening the door for Cas to step through.

Cas’s eyes were wide as he took in the room: colorful and textured, with artwork pinned to the walls and a play area in one corner. A large blue multiplication table rug was in front of the white board, which faced four groups of desks. 

“This is amazing, Dean,” Cas said, before wandering over to the wall where students’ pictures were posted. “You’ve really put a lot into this room.”

Dean scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, a lot of it’s Charlie’s work.”

Charlie was an aide who bounced between the third grade rooms when they needed extra help. She’d been in the day before after Dean had pleaded with Jody to let him have Charlie for the day, _please._ Jody had only agreed after pulling the truth out from Dean: that Cas was coming over and Dean needed to impress him so Charlie needed to take care of the kiddos for a bit while Dean arranged the classroom.

“Still,” Cas insisted, “It’s wonderful work.”

Dean waved away the compliment, turning to his desk so Cas wouldn’t see his red cheeks. “Have a seat; the kids won’t be in for a few minutes.”

When the students did start entering, a few with shoelaces trailing after them, Dean greeted them, reminded them to tie their shoes, and asked them to say hello to _Mr. Novak,_ which made Cas’s eyes go wide. Most of the students were reticent, but they dutifully greeted Cas and went to find their seats. Dean gave Cas an encouraging smile, but Cas stared back with a look of panic starting to dawn on his face. Why Dean had been nervous before he didn’t know; Cas was the one out of his element. “You okay?” he mouthed. 

Before Cas could answer, Gabby Friedman went up to Cas and asked him to tie her shoe. 

“Gabby,” Dean called, “You know how to tie your shoe.”

“But he has nice hands,” Gabby said, turning wide brown eyes on Dean, and well, Dean couldn’t deny that. Cas was already bent over tying her pink light-up shoes. When he straightened, his eyes were soft, less panicked. Gabby chirped out a “thank you!” and went back to her seat, admiring the bows Cas had tied.

Dean sent Cas an impressed look, which Cas returned with a wide smile. Dean only tore his gaze away when Freddy tugged on his sleeve and asked for a tissue for his runny nose.

 

The first hurdle was reviewing the students’ multiplication homework. Dean had the students split up into pairs and compare answers. “If you have different answers, go over the problem together,” he called.

He caught sight of Cas on one of the students’ tiny chairs scribbling in a notebook like he was reviewing his own multiplication as well. Dean picked up a stray pencil on the floor then made his way to Cas’s side. “You’re going to give yourself a hernia like that,” Dean said, bumping his hip against Cas’s shoulder. He plucked the pen out from Cas’s hand, where it had been skittering across the paper.

Cas looked up from his notes, looking skeptical. “That’s highly improbable, Mr. Winchester,” he said. He reached up and uncurled Dean’s hand so he could take his pen back. He was about to begin writing again, but he stopped himself. He stole a glance at Dean, then looked back down at his paper. “You’re very good at this, by the way,” he said, tracing over the last number he’d written over and over again. “The students love you.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that, so after a moment’s pause, he bumped Cas’s shoulder one more time, a silent thank you, and said to the class, “Who needs help?”

A few hands shot up. 

Dean took Cas’s pen again and pocketed it. “Great! Mr. Novak will be glad to help!” Then he gave Cas the pencil he’d picked up. “Pencil only for math, kiddo.” He curled a hand around Cas’s shoulder just for a second before walking away to remind Freddy to throw away his used tissues. 

The next time he dared to look over at Cas, the man was crouching near Sadie’s desk and watching the little girl erase her answer, nodding encouragingly when she began writing again. Cas lifted his eyes to Dean, and Dean, caught staring, looked away hastily, back at Junie’s atrocious 8-year-old handwriting. “I’m sorry, Junie - can you say that one more time?”

Junie looked up at Dean with big, brown eyes. Her lip began to tremble, then just as suddenly she was burying her face in her hands and taking huge, wet gasps of air as she sobbed.

Dean tried not to react, but he could feel his ears starting to warm when he saw Cas’s head turn their way. He shielded Junie from the rest of the class who had started to whisper and said lowly, “Let’s go to the corner so we can relax, okay?” He took one hand away from her face and tugged her gently away from her seat. She went, jumping off the chair that was just slightly too tall for small-for-her-age Junie, covering her face with her other chubby hand.

When Dean settled her in the beanbag corner, he knelt down next to her. “What’s wrong, June Bug?”

Junie was still sobbing, taking great sniffs as she tried to mop up her tears with her hand. Dean handed her a tissue from one of the tissue boxes he had placed around the room for this exact sort of situation. She wiped away her face messily and then deposited the tissue into Dean’s hand. Dean tried not to wince. He put it aside on a table.

“Better?”

Junie nodded. 

“Can you tell me why you’re upset?”

“I - I don’t know how,” Junie said, kicking her feet out in front of her. “And Gabby says I’m stupid.”

Dean ducked his head to meet the little girl’s eyes. “Remember your horse picture from last week?”

Junie’s lip trembled again. Hastily, before she went off on another sobbing session, Dean took her hand and folded in all of her fingers but the pointer. He directed it at the bulletin board where Junie’s orange horse picture was displayed underneath a sign that read, _The best work is hard work!_

Junie still looked unconvinced.

Dean frowned. “Let me talk to Gabby,” he said, “and she’ll tell you that she didn’t mean it. We all work hard in this classroom, and just because you don’t get it the first few times doesn’t mean you’re stupid.” 

He lifted his hand. Junie placed her palm against his in a soft high-five. 

“Do you need anything else while we’re here?” Dean asked. 

“A tissue,” Junie said, sniffing loudly.

Dean offered her the tissue box.

After she blew her nose, Junie said, giggling a little bit, “a hug too.”

So Dean extended his arms and let June Bug wrap her germ-laden arms around his neck. She released him and walked away without a word, hopping up onto her seat with only a small struggle.

He felt Cas’s eyes on him, but when Dean looked in his direction, Cas looked away quickly, cheeks pink. 

Not for the first time that morning, Dean wondered what exactly was happening between them. It was obvious to him that there was _something_ between them - that Cas’s feelings were a little more complicated than the platonic feelings that Dean had always cherished, the ones that Dean had never wanted to risk before this. But Dean wanted more now that he knew Cas wanted it too - except why didn’t Cas do anything about it? They had matched on Crushbook, and with the way Cas looked at him - with warmth and affection - what exactly was Dean supposed to think? 

Gabby and Junie began crying. Dean sighed and grabbed the tissue box again.

 

By the end of the day, Dean was exhausted and only too glad to settle in the front seat of the Impala and lay his head back, not even bothering to start the car. “Son of a bitch,” he groaned. “That was a long-ass day.”

“You’re especially vulgar when you’ve just gotten off work,” Cas observed. He was still peeling off glitter glue from his hands. 

“I’m usually better than this,” Dean said, rolling his neck around his shoulders. “But goddamn if that wasn’t the hardest day I’ve had in ages.”

“I’m sure Ben didn’t mean to punch James in the crotch.”

Dean sent Cas a dry look. “It’s what Benjamin does, Cas. He punches his friends in the crotch on a weekly basis.”

Cas looked surprised. “I - I’m glad I won’t be teaching third-graders.”

Dean laughed, even though he was pinching the bridge of his nose, right where a migraine was starting to build. “You were good at it, though,” he said, and laughed again when he remembered Gabby insisting that Cas walk her to the bus after school _like my boyfriend._ “You made friends.”

“I think Gabby might eat me alive.”

“She does bite sometimes,” Dean said wearily.

“Oh.”

A silence fell over them. 

“Hope it was helpful, though,” Dean said quietly.

“It was.”

Dean looked down at the keys in his hand, touched his apartment key, remembered the occasional sight of Cas asleep on his couch, wondered what it might take to see Cas asleep in his bed. He took a deep breath. “Hey, Cas?”

Cas had leaned his head on the passenger side window and closed his eyes with a long, tired sigh. “What?”

Dean watched the rise and fall of Cas’s arms, crossed on his chest, then let his gaze skate over the slight shadow coming in on Cas’s chin. They’d made plans to grab some Thai food for dinner, and for the whole day - long, even by Dean’s standards as a public primary school teacher - he’d clutched at the image of Cas across from him at the restaurant and held on for dear life. 

Cas opened his eyes curiously and arched a brow at Dean’s silence.

Dean stored away the words he was about to say for another day - an easier one. He grinned weakly. “Chicken butt.”

 

Dean insisted on taking a day off to drop Cas on his first day as a college instructor. They’d sat in silence for most of the ride to the community college. Cas was nervous, and Dean was nervous for him - not because he doubted Cas’s ability but because he could see the twitch in Cas’s hands that said he’d had too much coffee after a night of probably very little sleep.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Dean said, when Cas unbuckled his seat belt and started tugging at his tie, frowning on the mirror in front of him. “They’re young adults and probably won’t be nearly as germy as Junie.”

Cas nodded jerkily despite germs probably being the last thing on his mind. He hadn’t said a word since his preoccupied “good morning” 20 minutes earlier. 

Dean reached up and squeezed Cas’s shoulder. “I take it back,” he said. “You’re not gonna be fine.”

Cas’s eyes flew to Dean, his hand pausing at his tie.

Dean laughed. “Cas, you’re gonna be _great._ You’re 10 years older than most of them and infinitely more good-looking.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Cas asked.

“Nothing,” Dean said innocently. He’d been dropping heavier hints lately, but they didn’t seem to be doing much good. “Just thought I’d remind you.”

“Well, thank you,” Cas said, his eyebrows still furrowed in bemusement. “I’ll remember that when I blank out in the middle of my lecture.”

“Yeah, say it out loud. ‘My best friend thinks I’m better-looking than all of you.’”

That drew a smile out of Cas, albeit an exasperated one. “That sounds like a solid plan,” he said. Then he took a deep breath. “I think I’m ready.”

“Break a leg,” Dean called as Cas opened the passenger door and slid out. He watched Cas walk away, up the steps, into the two-story building. He didn’t move until long after Cas’s figure had vanished into the double doors.

 

Cas sent him a text message at around 4pm asking for a ride home. Dean, who had been sitting for most of the day in a coffee shop two miles from campus, tapping the table restlessly and scrambling for his phone every time it vibrated, booked it to his car when he read the message. He sent his reply before he left the lot: _Got it. Be there in 5_.

He was there in two and idled outside the building entrance for three. Bizarre thoughts started to invade Dean’s head when Cas didn’t appear right away: What if Cas had been kidnapped? What if the kids he was teaching were in a gang and their first initiation rite was to murder the new instructor? 

Absurd though he knew his thoughts were, Dean shifted the Impala into drive and found a parking spot a row away so he could charge into the building and find Cas himself. As soon as he’d climbed out of his car and shut his door, however, Cas came jogging down the steps of the building, a stack of folders in his arms and a grin he was failing to hide on his face.

Dean met him at the passenger side. “You look happy,” he said, once Cas got close enough to hear. He leaned his side on the Impala like he hadn’t been about to pull the fire alarm in a desperate ploy to get everyone out of the building. “Had a good first day?” He opened the door for Cas, and Cas piled his things in while he shrugged.

It was a poor attempt an nonchalance, and the smile on his face belied his attempt at modesty. “It was decent.” 

Dean’s made a small disbelieving noise. He was about to speak when a voice from across the parking lot interrupted them.

“See ya, Mr. Novak!” 

Dean looked around to see a pair of young men climbing into a tricked-out pickup, waving at Cas. Dean turned back to Cas just in time to see him lift a hand up in greeting.

“Well, well,” Dean said, smirking. “Look who’s Mr. Cool all of a sudden.”

Cas laughed out loud in response, which was a rare sight to see. His day must have gone really well, Dean thought. He felt his smile growing a little sappy, but he didn’t try to hide it. Instead he let the smile settle into something softer, something just for Cas. “Good for you,” he said quietly.

Cas’s eyes searched his. “I made a good choice,” he said, his voice suddenly much softer. 

It occurred to Dean that this was a Moment. He cleared his throat and straightened, looking down at the ground where he could see Cas’s new shoes, already scuffed from just one day in the classroom. He looked up and offered Cas an encouraging smile, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets where he could hide the nervous clench of his fists. “Can’t argue with that.”

“You were nervous for me this morning,” Cas accused, though his look was sly.

“This morning? More like the whole goddamn day.”

Instead of laughing like Dean thought he would, Cas just smiled indulgently. “You’ve been wonderful these last few weeks, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean looked away. His ears were warm. “I had to,” he said gruffly. “If this didn’t work out I’d have to support both of us on a teacher’s salary.”

“Stop dodging the compliment,” Cas said. He clutched Dean’s elbow and looked at Dean so sincerely that Dean did the only thing he could think to do: he pulled his hands out of his jacket pocket and hugged his best friend, wrapping his arms around Cas’s shoulders and trying not to think about the way Cas’s hands came up just to drag down his back.

“You’re amazing,” Dean murmured into the air behind Cas’s head. He was mildly horrified to feel his eyes stinging.

Cas’s soft laughter warmed Dean’s shoulder and made its way via his bloodstream to his stuttery heart.

Eventually they stepped away from each other, but Dean let his hands drag down Cas’s arms, too happy to let go. Cas’s eyebrows rose, but he just smiled and kept the silence, content. It was only when Dean’s eyes dipped to Cas’s lips that the moment shifted. Suddenly Cas’s gaze darkened and he was licking his lips, and it occurred to Dean in the last functioning part of his mind that Something was about to happen. 

A long time ago, Dean had taken Sam to the dinosaur museum and Sam had tugged him to the smallest display in the room: a mosquito captured and frozen in amber. He and Cas seemed to be swimming in amber now: everything was slow, almost completely still, torturous, beautiful. The breaths he was taking were shallow and far between, and he felt like his heart was on its last leg: so tired and desperate to finish _._

Cas started to lean in. He was so close Dean could feel the warmth of his skin against his.

But then the amber vanished, and with a soft intake of breath Cas turned his head. Dean felt him press the barest of kisses on his cheek - barely a press of skin - then Cas was gone from his space, murmuring “thank you again” before opening the passenger door and sliding in.

 

Shutting the door of his apartment behind him was a relief. He and Cas had spent the ride to Cas’s apartment in a subdued silence. Dean hadn’t wanted to make any move that hadn’t been absolutely necessary in case it spooked Cas, whose face had gone pale and who spent most of the car ride with a hand pressed to his temple. The tension in the car had only only underscored by its contrast to the contentment that Cas had radiated when he’d walked out of the college building only a few minutes prior. 

When Dean had stopped in front of Cas’s apartment building, Cas had turned his head the barest of angles toward Dean and said, “thank you,” before stepping out of the car. He hadn’t even waited until Dean replied, though Dean’s voice box had closed up somewhere between minute two and thirteen of the silence so he wouldn’t have been able to say anything anyhow.

In his own apartment, Dean finally felt some of the tension leaving his limbs, though he still made a beeline toward his fridge for a beer. He popped a bottle open despite knowing that no amount of alcohol would erase the mortification of his kiss being sidestepped by the guy he had been sure returned his feelings. 

He sat at his kitchen table and drained his first bottle easily. It was after his second that he began to accept that he wouldn’t have any answers to this unless he asked Cas what was going on. Buoyed by the alcohol in his veins, he pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the call button, but Dean had enough self-awareness to know that Cas would detect that he’d been drinking. He sent Cas a text message instead.

Dean: Hey

Cas: Did you get home safely?

Dean: Yeah. How ar eyou?

Cas: Fine. A headache from the nerves. I’ll talk to you later.

That was a rejection if Dean ever saw it, but he was determined not to feel sorry for himself. He opened Crushbook, intent on finding someone to lose himself in. The app was open to his messages, where CAS’s name was highlighted in green. He was online. Dean gritted his teeth against the hurt. The knowledge that Cas was swiping right after he’d told Dean he had a headache was like digging a stake into his gut. He stared at the screen until it went black. Then he got up for another beer. He needed liquid courage to be able to do what he was planning on doing. After a few minutes, once the beer had lent a pleasant buzz in his fingertips and had muffled the sounds of his self-control screaming at him, Dean opened up the messages.

Dean: Hey

Dean: Are we still good?

**CAS: Yes?**

Dean: uh Okay? how are you feeling

**CAS: Fine**

Dean: Great. 

Dean: The nerves gone or what?

**CAS: Oh**

**CAS: I suppose I’m still a bit nervous about all of this**

Dean: no headache?

**CAS: I’m getting one**

Dean: yeah well I dont think swiping right is gonna get rid fo it

**CAS: hmm yeah not really feeling like swiping right on anyone rn**

Dean: yeah I get you

Dean: get some sleep ok? We can talk tomorrow

Dean: how does that sound

Dean: I think we have a lot to talk about 

Dean: right?

Dean waited for Cas to answer. No reply came. Dean started and erased half a dozen more messages - some rude, some understanding, all of them desperate for answers. He had started the message chain so he could confront Cas, but like all of his attempts to far to get a straight answer out of Cas, he’d faltered. 

Admitting that he was scared that not all was as it seemed with Cas’s feelings was easier after making his way through the better half of a six-pack. Eventually the beer led him to bed, where he stashed his phone in his bedside table drawer and slept fitfully, dreaming of amber.

 

The next time Dean saw Cas was a week later, when Cas knocked on Dean’s door wearing a sheepish expression and holding up a six-pack of Dean’s favorite beer.

“Hi” was all Cas said, and despite Dean having every right to be pissed for being left hanging for a full goddamn week, he crumpled at the sight of the bags under Cas’s eyes, the wary expression on Cas’s face.

Dean stepped back from the doorway and let Cas in. “You look like crap.”

Cas put the beer on Dean’s coffee table. “I know,” he said, shucking off his coat and blazer. “I haven’t been sleeping much, and when I do, I dream of grading.”

“Same,” Dean said, making a beeline for the beer. “Haven’t gotten more than four hours a night for a while.” He didn’t mention that his dreams weren’t of grading but of Cas, his face inches away from Dean’s, his eyes slipping closed, his lips parting ever so slightly, breath warm even in the numbness of the dreamworld.

Cas, when divested of his outerwear, seemed even more tired. Dean could see the slowness of Cas’s limbs, the droop of his eyelids, the slowness of his sigh. The white button-down Cas had donned was slightly wrinkled like he’d been wearing it the whole day.

As Cas sank down into Dean’s couch with a grateful sigh, Dean went into his bedroom for one of Cas’s emergency T-shirts. He kept them in a separate drawer from his on purpose, so that he wouldn’t be reminded of Cas every time he needed a shirt. Lately, though, Dean hadn’t needed much of a reminder anyhow; every thought was Cas and where they were headed. Despite Dean’s feelings and Cas’s feelings, it seemed like they were getting nowhere. Dean wasn’t quite sure how much longer he could go on in limbo.

When he entered his living room again, he found Cas with a stack of papers in his lap. There was a pen between his lips, which Dean stared at for a long time before clearing his throat and tossing the shirt at Cas’s head.

“Oh,” Cas said, once he removed the shirt from his head and took a look at it. He still had the pen in his mouth. “Thanks.” He removed the pen then, much to Dean’s relief, but then Cas’s fingers moved to the button at his throat.

Dean froze from where he was perched on the opposite arm of the couch. He couldn’t decide if he should feel like a creep for staring even if Cas wasn’t exactly hiding - even if Cas probably knew exactly what he was doing to Dean.

When the last button was undone, Dean could see Cas’s undershirt clinging to his torso - the fabric was thin and white and when Cas slid his button-down off his shoulders, it was the only thing keeping Dean from the sight of miles of long, tanned skin. 

Abruptly, he stood up. “What’s for dinner?” he asked, walking around the back of the couch to his kitchen table, where he sat and clenched his hands into fists. 

“No preference,” Cas said, his voice muffled by the fabric being lifted over his head.

Guiltily, Dean slid his eyes back toward Cas’s figure. He caught a glimpse of Cas’s bare shoulders - the dips and swells contracting as he pulled the T-shirt over his head. When Cas stood up and turned around, Dean realized with a jolt he had mistakenly given Cas one of his own T-shirts, and the sight of Cas in Dean’s apartment looking soft and sleepy in Dean’s T-shirt was too much for Dean’s tattered self-control.

“I’m confused,” he said, too loudly in the silent apartment.

Cas paused briefly in the act of folding his shirts. His eyes were half-lidded. “What?” he said, his voice rougher than usual from exhaustion.

The sensical side of Dean was yelling at him to stop, to let Cas rest, but the selfish side demanded answers. Still, he softened his voice. “We’ve been doing this thing for a while, Cas.”

Cas put aside his shirts, neatly folded, on the couch arm. He joined Dean at the kitchen table and faced him. Their legs brushed. “This ‘thing’?”

Dean slid his leg between Cas’s. “Yeah, with _Crushbook_ and the - do you - do you have feelingsfor me, Cas?” 

When he dared to look up at Cas’s expression, he was met by wide eyes. “I - I have to go,” Cas said, and he was out of the chair and out of the room and out of the apartment before Dean’s poor head caught up to his heart. By the time he roused himself out of the chair and out into the hallway, Cas was gone. A peek out of his bedroom window would reveal Cas on the street outside hailing a cab.

 

It took a while for Dean to wrap his head around what had occurred. He’d finally brought up the subject of his personal torment to the subject of his personal torment, and said subject had fled the scene. He could still see the panic in Cas’s face when Dean had brought it up, and it made no sense. If Cas didn’t have feelings for Dean, which was unlikely, then Cas could have just laughed it off and said no. And if Cas _did_ have feelings for Dean, there was no reason for him to flee because Dean had made it abundantly clear about his own feelings.

Hadn’t he?

Maybe he hadn’t.

Dean fumbled for his phone. He spent a tense minute staring at the call button next to Cas’s name, and after a firm discussion with himself about courage and seizing the day, he tapped it and held the phone to his ear, intent on making his feelings clear in case he’d fucked it all up with his assumptions.

“You’ve reached Castiel. Please make your voice a mail.” The recording ended with Dean’s own laughter in the background. 

Dean ended the call and stared, lost, at the screen. His background was a picture of Cas kneeling by Junie’s desk. He was grinning up at the little girl, their palms pressed together in a tender (albeit germy) high-five that had left Dean’s heart aching for the rest of the day. Cas had seen the picture the day after Dean had set it as his background.

“Why this picture?” Cas had asked, bringing the phone close up to his face so he could see it more clearly. They’d been in the Impala driving to the bookstore for more pedagogy books despite Dean’s dismissal of their usefulness. 

“It’s a good picture, man - don’t question it.” Dean had been glad to be driving, to have an excuse not to meet Cas’s eyes.

There’d been a long silence. Cas hadn’t stopped looking at the picture, had in fact hunted down the actual picture in Dean’s gallery and stared at it some more. Then he’d put down Dean’s phone and picked his own up to stare at its blank screen. “Should I…have a picture of you?”

Dean hadn’t pointed out how close this was to Cas admitting his feelings for Dean, because he was sure Cas knew. He had just shrugged. “If you wanna.”

The next thing he knew, Cas had leaned against the passenger door and leveled his phone at Dean’s profile. The shutter sound effect had been loud against the muted sounds of rock coming from the Impala’s speakers, and Dean had rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you you can turn that sound off.”

But then Cas had leaned in and shoved the phone in Dean’s peripheral vision. At the next stoplight, Dean had taken the phone from Cas’s hand and swallowed hard when he saw himself from Cas’s seat: his profile illuminated by the sun, a bashful grin threatening to burst forth. 

“Is this a good one?” Cas had asked.

The light had turned green at that point, and Dean had gratefully handed back the phone. “It’s up to you, man.”

He had seen Cas look at the photo again for a few seconds. Then, wordlessly, he’d set it as his background.

In the silence of his apartment, Dean longed for the obnoxious sound of Cas’s camera going off. He needed reassurance that Cas wasn’t gone from his life because of his own stupidity, but with Cas not answering his phone calls, things were uncertain.

It wasn’t until his phone pinged with a Crushbook notification three beers later that it occurred to Dean that Cas might be on Crushbook. Delightfully lightheaded, Dean leaned his elbows on his knees at his kitchen table and messaged Cas, whose status told Dean that he was online.

Dean: seriously dude? You dont answer my question then suddenly youre on crushbook?

**CAS: I stopped talking to you. Twice. What do you think that means?**

Dean: What?

**CAS: A tip for you when you message people in the future: If they stop responding, you’ve blown it.**

Dean: But we’ve been talking

**CAS: because you’re hot. but you’re also kind of a creep**

Dean: seriously can you just answer me? can we talk in person?

**CAS: seriously dude talking to you online is as far as this goes**

Dean: So were never gonna talk about us?

**CAS: What the fuck**

Dean: dude ok i didn’t want to bring this up but

Dean: you did almost kiss me outside the college

**CAS: what the honest fuck**

**CAS: ive never met you in my life before you sicko**

**[CAS BLOCKED YOU]**

 

It took Sam three minutes to stop laughing.

“Yeah, laugh it up, jerk,” Dean muttered. One hand held his phone to his ear, and the other was trying to soothe the migraine taking residence in his temple. “The only reason you got that fairytale ending of yours is because you’re basically Rapunzel.”

Normally this would have stopped Sam’s laughter at Dean’s expense, but if anything, it only made him laugh harder.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m glad my misery is so entertaining to you, your majesty. Please let me know if I can provide more entertainment in the future.”

“N-no,” Sam said. “I’m sorry. Wait, just give me a second.” It took him more than a few seconds to stifle the snorts of laughter, but finally he let out a long sigh. “Can I just - let me get this straight. The guy you were talking to online, the guy you _thought_ was Cas… _wasn’t Cas?_ ” It sounded like he was about to go on another laughing fit, so Dean jumped in.

“Yeah, I’m an idiot, yes, understood - can we get to the part where we figure out what I _do_?”

There was a long silence. Dean imagined Sam biting his knuckle to stifle his laughter, and sure enough, when Sam got back on the line, there was an amused lilt to his voice. “Look, I know I seem like I’m being really insensitive, but - “ he cleared his throat to hide a laugh. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem,” Dean growled, “is that I’ve been assuming Cas knew about - you know. About the way I felt. But it turns out he doesn’t.”

“Then tell him,” Sam said. “Simple. Next problem.”

Dean wanted to put up an argument about how “then tell him” wasn’t as simple as Sam said it was, but the truth was he’d been about to tell Cas anyway until Cas rejected his phone call. He moved on to the next problem. “Now I’m not sure Cas feels the same way.”

The silence this time around was not Sam biting down on his knuckle. It was Sam, waiting patiently on the line while Dean made his own connections.

“Shit,” Dean said absently. He thought of Cas in Dean’s classroom, sneaking looks when he thought Dean wasn’t looking. He thought of Cas after his first successful day as a college instructor, his blue eyes fixed on Dean lips, leaning into Dean’s space, breathing Dean’s air. He thought of Cas in the Impala, tilting his head this way and that as he looked at the picture of Dean he’d just taken on his phone, then smiling when he saw it for the first time as his screen background. 

And finally he thought of Cas just a few hours prior to this conversation, sitting stock still in Dean’s apartment on Dean’s rickety kitchen chair, his face frozen in an expression of shock and panic and _guilt_ at the realization that his feelings had been found out.

“You okay?” Sam said quietly.

“I need to see Cas. Right now.” 

“I’ll pick you up.”

 

Sam dropped him off in front of Cas’s apartment. “Just call me if you need a ride back,” he said, as Dean unbuckled his seat belt. Then he offered Dean an encouraging smile. “Don’t think you’ll need it though.”

Dean swallowed. “Hope you’re right, Sammy.”

“I am.”

Dean looked at his phone, held loosely in his hands. He couldn’t look his brother in the eye, but it needed to be said: “Eileen’s a lucky gal.”

When Dean dared to look up, Sam’s smile was faraway. “Nah,” Sam said. “I’ll never deserve her.”

“Probably right,” Dean agreed, then dodged Sam’s swat. “I’m glad she chose you, though.”

“Save the feelings for Cas.” Sam shoved him out of the car, but before he drove off, he lifted a hand and offered a smile. “Good luck, Dean.”

 

Cas’s apartment was on the fourth floor. Dean took the stairs, grateful for the late night and its silence. By the time he reached Cas’s door, he was slightly out of breath but he also felt more prepared to face Cas and tell him, unequivocally, of his feelings. Despite that, it took him two minutes to gather the courage to press the buzzer, and when he did, he had to restrain himself from bolting down the hallway and down the stairs.

It took longer than usual for Cas to answer the door. Dean assumed that Cas had taken a look through the peephole and was debating whether or not to answer the door. Dean spent a few seconds panicking as he thought about what might happen if Cas didn’t answer, but before his thoughts got the better of him, the door opened, and Cas appeared just like he had at Dean’s doorstep only a few hours previously, looking wary. 

He was still wearing Dean’s shirt.

“Hi, Cas. Can I come in?”

After a moment’s hesitation in which Dean really worried Cas would shut the door on him, Cas stepped back without a word. Dean noticed he recoiled as Dean passed by, and it dug claws in Dean’s heart. After Cas closed the door, they stood in the foyer for a few seconds before Dean said tentatively, “Can we talk?”

The expression on Cas’s face told Dean that Cas would rather choke down a pint of vinegar than sit and talk, but still Cas nodded and gestured to the couch. Cas surprised Dean when they sat down by speaking first, his voice pitched softer than Dean had ever heard from him.

“Dean, I hope that my feelings didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Stop.” Dean reached out with a hand, but when Cas drew back at its approach, Dean let the hand settle instead on Cas’s knee. Dean thought it might settle Cas’s nerves, but if anything, Cas looked at the hand with his eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed tightly together.

“I know that this changes things,” Cas said, “and that it might make things awkward -”

Dean shook his head, horrified that Cas thought he needed a speech to salvage their friendship. “Cas, can I just - I asked you about your feelings because -”

Just bringing up his feelings made Cas’s expression turn stony. “I assume,” he said, with more than a touch of bitterness, “because I was horrible at hiding them?”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, holding up a hand. “I’m gonna start at the beginning,” he said. He noticed Cas’s gaze was fixated on the hand he’d placed on Cas’s knee. He squeezed, just a little, and watched Cas’s throat bob in response. “So,” Dean started, “I’ve been on Crushbook.”

That was evidently the wrong thing to say because Cas suddenly was angling his body away from Dean, his chin dipping down to his chest, his eyes shuttering.

Dean reached out again and this time his hand landed on Cas’s shoulder. “That’s not - see, I matched with someone -”

At those words, Dean felt something go out of Cas - the muscles under Dean’s hand shifted and suddenly Cas seemed smaller, a little less present.

“I’m saying this all fucking wrong,” Dean said desperately. “I matched with _you._ ”

Cas brought a hand up to clutch his forehead. “Dean,” he said, “You’re not making any sense.”

“No, Cas, I - I matched with someone I _thought_ was you - and it made me believe that what I felt was… mutual.”

This brought Cas’s eyes to Dean, and suddenly those same eyes that had flickered out just a few seconds before were wide, disbelieving. “‘What you felt’?” Cas asked, so weakly that Dean just barely caught it.

He moved the hand on Cas’s shoulder to Cas’s cheek. “Yeah,” he said, and he allowed himself a little grin, delighted, heart full, when Cas’s mouth parted in astonishment. “Yeah, I matched with some random dude who has the exact same name and chess set as you.” Dean felt Cas’s smile grow beneath his hand, so he kept going. “And I kept talking to him like he was you and _flirting_ with him and I thought you just didn’t want to talk to me about it in real life.”

Cas’s hand had found its way tentatively to Dean’s own cheek. He seemed fascinated with the feel of Dean’s skin, staring with shining eyes at the point of contact between them. “You have feelings for me,” he breathed. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

Dean nodded, desperate for Cas to understand. “Cas, since forever.”

Cas let out a shaky breath. It was a while before he spoke. He started and stopped multiple times before finally murmuring, “I was never going to tell you about my feelings.”

Dean’s thumb dragged against Cas’s bottom lip, and Cas turned his face to welcome it. “Neither was I,” Dean admitted. “But then after I matched with that guy, I started watching you a little closer and you were always -”

“Always what?” Cas’s words were soft and warm against Dean’s thumb.

“Always watching me,” Dean said, wanting more than anything to feel the warmth of Cas’s breath on his lips. “Even when you weren’t looking at me.”

Cas’s face crumpled. His free hand came up to pull Dean in by the back of his neck, and _finally,_ Dean was pressing his lips against Cas’s. Cas was warmer and softer and more pliant than Dean could ever have imagined, and he yearned to soak it all in, pressing harder, seeking more and more heat, a new angle, tilting his head and demanding more when Cas groaned softly. 

Eventually he moved from Cas’s lips to his jaw to his neck, down to where Cas’s skin met the collar of his shirt, pressing harder until Cas was left panting against the arm of his couch. Dean kept himself suspended above Cas, his lips just grazing Cas’s collar bone.

They melted together as they caught their breath. Cas’s hands clutched Dean’s ribs, and when Dean, overcome with something that could only be described as utter happiness, whispered, “I love you,” he felt the hands tighten in surprise.

Then Cas was pulling his face upward so they could see each other. Cas’s eyes were shining, his lips red. His nose was pink too, and it was only after a second that Dean realized that his best friend was on the verge of tears. 

“Hey,” Dean whispered, knocking their noses together. “Don’t. I’m sorry.”

Cas laughed softly. “Never be sorry. I love you too.”

Dean kissed him, and when he broke away, he knew there were tears in his own eyes too.

 

Half an hour later found Dean and Cas still on the couch. Misty eyes had made way for spontaneous laughter, but they still couldn’t take their hands off each other. 

“You’re heavy,” Cas complained, though his own hands were wrapped around Dean’s back.

Dean dug his head further in the space between Cas’s face and shoulder. “Don’t care,” he said, not bothering to hide his grin.

It was only when Cas’s stomach growled that Dean raised his head. “You didn’t eat dinner.”

Cas was staring at Dean’s face like he could never have his fill of it. “Neither did you.”

“Pizza?”

“I have leftovers.”

Dean scowled. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Cas didn’t even blink. “I am,” he said, eyes turning soft, sap turned on full-blast. He leaned up for a kiss.

Dean indulged him for a few minutes, unhurried and warm, before his own stomach started rumbling. He got up, then extended a hand toward Cas, tilting his head in admiration at the thorough job he’d done of debauching him. Cas’s shirt was rucked up halfway up his stomach, his face was flushed, and his hair was hopelessly mussed. He caught Cas’s eyes roving down Dean’s body and suddenly his head was filled with vivid images involving Cas, a distinct lack of pants, and the same dark gaze Cas was dragging down Dean’s torso. Judging by the look on Cas’s face, his thoughts were on the same track.

“Stop,” Dean said. “Before we starve to death.”

Cas’s mouth twisted into a pout, which Dean kissed away when he hauled Cas up. 

“We have all the time in the world,” Dean whispered against Cas’s lips.

Cas’s smile was wide. “True,” he said. “But only because you were dumb enough to believe I actually used Crushbook.”

Dean stopped angling for a kiss and drew back. “What?”

“I said it so you’d be jealous,” Cas admitted, closing the gap again. “Did it work?”

“You asshole,” Dean said. “Yeah, it worked. What a dick move.” But Cas was smiling so prettily Dean couldn’t stay mad. 

“How did you find out it wasn’t me, then?” Cas said.

Dean snaked a hand up Cas’s shirt, hoping to distract him. “Messaged him after you left my place. He called me a creep and blocked me.”

Cas froze. His lips twitched. It was obvious he was trying not to laugh, but then a snort burst through and he was just as suddenly throwing his head back in raucous, disbelieving laughter.

“Stop,” Dean groaned. Underneath Cas’s shirt, he dragged his hands down Cas’s bare ribs to no avail. Defeated, he dropped his forehead to Cas’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he said. “Your boyfriend’s a fucking idiot, which makes you an idiot too.”

That only made Cas laugh harder, and eventually Dean hid his own growing smile in Cas’s neck. He loved Cas, and Cas loved him, and “CAS” from Crushbook was somewhere out in the continental US blogging about the creep on Crushbook who made up a whole story about their love. It was ridiculous. But then Cas pressed a kiss high on Dean’s cheek like the one outside of the community college, except this time it was better, because real kisses followed, and so did dinner (leftovers), at 10:34pm. 

 

Later, in Cas’s bed, Cas pecked Dean on the lips before leaning over to switch off the lamp. “Good night,” he said. Everything about him - his voice, his eyes in the bare light, his skin - was warm. “I’m going to wake up tomorrow thinking I dreamed everything up.”

Dean touched Cas’s cheek and smiled. “It is pretty ridiculous, isn’t it?” he said.

Cas’s hands brushed Dean’s stomach. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But worth it.”

Dean thought about it - about Sam and Eileen, about the emoji-obsessed Katelyn, about Junie and Freddy and Gabby, about Cas in his suit in the front of a classroom, about Cas at this moment in bed with his hands at Dean’s waist - and nodded. “Definitely worth it,” he breathed, then arched an eyebrow at Cas when Cas’s hands dipped underneath Dean’s waistband.

“Though we should make sure we’re making the most of it,” Cas said, eyes playful. 

Dean knew they both had work tomorrow. Still, he curled a hand around Cas’s neck and pulled. “Don’t wanna seem ungrateful, right?” he murmured against Cas’s lips. 

Cas didn’t bother replying. He kissed Dean.

 

They made the most of it for the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> The end!
> 
> I hope you caught the flipped trope: the flip of the Two-Person Love Triangle trope. The trope is basically this: A falls for B irl, but also develops feelings for C via online dating or some other non-face-to-face interaction. A has a crisis because he/she’s fallen in love with both B and C, but it turns out that B and C are the same person.
> 
>  I took that trope and flipped it (thus FLIPfest) by making Dean believe that Cas and CAS were the same person...except they weren’t. Hopefully hilarity ensued.
> 
> Thank you for accompanying me on this journey - all 15,000 words of it (which was the maximum!)
> 
> Like I promised, some links -  
> [My tumblr](http://surlybobbies.tumblr.com/)  
> [This fic’s masterpost](http://surlybobbies.tumblr.com/post/173731879346/title-a-match-made-and-misunderstood)  
>  
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, then you’ll be glad to hear that I still have a few things in store for you this year!  
> 1) I signed up for the DC Reverse Bang and scored a wonderful piece of art by boopliette (on tumblr) so go check her out and get excited!  
> 2) I also signed up for the DCBB (gulp), and while I haven’t exactly started writing (;>>), I have an idea that I’m really excited about.  
> 3)Also, I've been selected to write for the upcoming destiel anthology along with 49 other writers - find out more about this physical anthology on deancasanthology.tumblr.com.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you again for all of your support! <3


End file.
